Empty walls roar out a history now forgotten,
like words from silent pages,
from volumes of books left disregarded,
by the ponderous passage of time
reflecting the journey of the abandoned house,
that was once a home.
Left in wait,
resting on the edge of this advancing town.
Waiting from the bricks to be taken from its once proud doorway,
end to the relentless thorns entering through the windows and stealing all remaining pride.
The dead wallpaper fades to the ground, like an ageless snowfall.
A nail remains.
Which caressed honourably the painting that used to bask every guests attention.
In an embossed frame,
on which the sun never set.
The sun could never move its eyes from a statement of such profound beauty.